


Fade to Black

by talesofsymphoniac



Category: The Death Gate Cycle - Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman
Genre: Alternate Scene, F/M, Hand of Chaos, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-16 04:47:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14157087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talesofsymphoniac/pseuds/talesofsymphoniac
Summary: When Hugh told Haplo his part of the story that would eventually be recorded under the title Hand of Chaos, he hadn't necessarily included every detail.(A slightly different take on the night Hugh sold his soul that I wrote in like an hour just for the hell of it.)





	Fade to Black

Hugh had been in prison many times before. Even for him, though, being in three prisons simultaneously was a first.

There was the Labyrinth itself, a magical hellscape created by the Sartan to contain their enemies, the Patryns. Hugh had become far more acquainted than he had ever wanted with the place, by now.

Then, there was the time well he was currently sitting in, a small cavern with marks inscribed across the walls. Across from him, looking equally weary, sat Haplo and his dog. Most of their energy was expended trying to ignore Alfred, who hadn’t stopped nattering about the spell that had them trapped here since they’d arrived.

As if those weren’t excessive enough, there was also the prison of his own body. It had been his attempts to finally escape this last prison that had sent him down that path that led him here.

Hugh really just wanted to die now, please.

At some point, he and Haplo had figured they may as well use this time to clarify what each had missed of the other’s story. Haplo, up to this point, had only vague notions of Hugh’s unfortunate resurrection, how he and Iridal had come to be in the Imperanon, and even less of anything that had happened in between.

Haplo was listening intently, piecing together his account with his own memories. Hugh was currently describing his and Iridal’s arrival at the Cathedral of the Albedo, and the deal he had made with the Keepers.

“I doubt she was too happy about that,” Haplo said. He didn’t appear particularly concerned, only made the remark to prompt him onwards.

As such, Hugh shrugged. “We argued about it, later that night. She didn’t want me to, thought we could find another way, but.” He shrugged, communicating the obvious. “She’s sensible, at the end of the day. She loved her son”-- he grimaced-- “or she wanted to, at least.”

“She knew she wouldn’t convince me. So..." Hugh trailed off, thinking of the events of that night, then realized he had paused a moment too long and continued. "That was that. The next morning the Keepers prepared us to enter the Imperanon.”

If Haplo noticed his brief stumble, he didn’t comment on it, for which Hugh was grateful.

* * *

 “Wait a moment.”

Iridal’s hands were soft, pale: not at all like his own. Her grip was strong, though, and she clasped his wrist tightly, intercepting him before he could reach the bell that would summon the Kenkari.

Hugh made no move to escape, but instead pinned her beneath his gaze. “You’re not going to change my mind, Lady.” The words rang with finality; she had already tried, after all, watching each of her arguments crumble to dust. He was certain there was no other way, and her love for him, such as it was, would change nothing.

Iridal only stood straighter, undaunted. “I know,” she said, tightening her grip around his wrist. “I… I know,” she repeated, sadder. “That’s not…” She hesitated, eyes flickering down to their hands before meeting his eyes again, more certain. “That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t stay,” she said, softer, and then, when he said nothing: “What other chance will we get, like this?”

Hugh had no immediate reaction to her words; even his face felt unmoving as stone, and betraying less emotion. In all their time travelling, she had never asked this of him, and he had never offered. During their week of solitude en route to Paxaria, they had each slept quietly in their respective bunks. Hugh studied her own expression, wondering rather uncharitably if this was her last means of persuasion. She didn’t look away, this time. Her eyes shone with her conviction.

Finally, he spoke. “I already told you--”

“And I told you,” Iridal interrupted, and now she turned away, confidence in her expression giving way to sadness, to grief. Still, her hand didn’t relinquish its grasp on his wrist. “I know,” she finished, her voice a bit hollow. She turned back to him, the corner of her lip turning up into a smile that didn’t manage to reach her eyes. “All the more reason you should stay.”

Hugh could almost feel the weight of those eyes, so intent were they as Iridal waited for his response. Her cheeks were flushed with the faintest pink, but she was hardly a blushing virgin; her eyes were fixed with his, clear in her intentions. She was confident that he would say yes.

She shouldn’t have been so confident. As brief as it had been, that one moment of death, of indescribable bliss had rendered even the greatest earthly pleasures weak by comparison. Weak, yes, but not exactly _unpleasant_ , he admitted to himself, feeling her soft fingers warm against his wrist.

Still. “Iridal,” he began again, not knowing what he would say after, not sure precisely how to articulate what held him back. He shifted, turning his hands palm-up, revealing the scars there, repeating silently a point he’d already made: _Look at it. Is this really what you want?_

“I don’t care about that,” Iridal said, so vehemently that she probably believed it herself. He raised his eyebrows, skeptic, and watched her shimmering eyes lower. Ashamed, though she had no reason to be. After everything she had been through, she deserved better than good enough. “Not today, at least,” she amended. “Not now.” She shook her head slightly, sending a ripple through curtains of hair, hair that had regained some of the luster lost over the course of her years of desperate unhappiness.

A moment’s hesitation, and then Iridal’s lips tightened, and she suddenly looked more vulnerable than she had before. Her next words were spoken slowly, carefully, eyes remaining averted from his: “It might be selfish, but just this once… I’d like to be touched by someone who cares about me.”

Hugh blinked. The admission came from almost nowhere, and yet it made some kind of sense. If Sinistrad was all she had ever known... the idea alone was enough to make him shudder. It really was no wonder she would want to change that.

And Iridal herself had already changed. She was certainly no longer the woman who had collapsed into his arms on the stairs of Castle Sinistrad. She had learned-- and was still learning-- to see reality for what it was, even when it ran in spite of her fondest wishes.

Yet, strangely, Iridal’s words were also a kind of relief, for they meant that her request wasn’t born from some misguided belief in her undying, redemptive love for him. It meant that Iridal knew as well as Hugh did that whatever happened tonight would change nothing about what happened tomorrow.

And she would trust him with this, trust him to write over whatever memories she had of her once-husband. The thought was a brief brush of warmth in a place he thought had been long dead, making him feel for another person in that way that, for whatever reason, only Iridal had ever truly inspired. And it was that glimpse of a feeling, more than any other, that moved his free hand to touch her face. She leaned into the touch easily, as if it were an everyday occurance between them.

“There will be other men,” he reminded her, his tone soft, having lost any persuasion it once held. _Better men,_ he didn’t say.

She smiled wryly, peering up at him past the hand against her cheek, through the corner of those shimmering eyes. “We’re set to break into the Imperanon. I wouldn’t so certain about that.” It was an attempt at humor, and a weak one at that. From the way her expression faltered, Iridal regretted it as soon as she said it. She let out a breath that was neither a sigh nor a laugh, and brushed past it quickly. “You might be right,” she allowed. “But even so…”

She didn’t finish that thought. Instead, she stepped closer to him, finally releasing his wrist from her grasp and letting her hand drift up to his shoulder, drawing their bodies together.

Hugh didn’t back away. Didn’t particularly want to, anymore. Maybe it really was selfish of her, to ask this of them now, of all times. Then again, that was how it had always been with her, one way or another. Ever since they met, he’d found himself acting, inexplicably, to give her whatever she asked of him. Even so, he could never find it in himself to resent her for it, for somehow everything he had done for her he had done for himself, equally; giving his life, then his soul, and on until this moment, when she kissed him, and he kissed her back.

Could that be called love? He wasn’t certain. Then again, he thought, following Iridal’s insistent, albeit gentle lead, it didn’t much matter anymore, for if it wasn’t love, it was certainly the closest thing to it that he would ever know.

**Author's Note:**

> I just reread Hand of Chaos and had a bunch of Unexpected Feelings about these two that manifested in... this dumb little thing.


End file.
